the nature of nurture is torture
flesh to flesh, were warm
but im ******* on fire
smoke plumes high and then higher
i immolate, but youre worth it
match- kindling- pyre
its beautiful, a steady stream of gasoline
ill watch you from the stars, ill be your gleam
there you go through my telescope, skipping
like ashes weightless, floating away, like me, you leave
from place to place you leave
and im still on ******* fire, where are you going? i scream
these light years away too away to reach through
i send you sun spots and then uvs to burn, poisoning to ensue
where are your eyes? my atoms are rumbling, my heart has been stewed
what will it take, where are your eyes?
what will it take, ill even take lies
im ******* burning, why dont you want to burn, too?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
cant shake a feeling, im reeling
like straw slurping and ice cream brain freezes
sweet and lovely but unrelieving
that face on you, unpleased and making me queasy
ill take that spark, light my cigarette and try to forget
with whats left, it wont be easy
my stomach coils, will this ever be ending?
smoggy chemicals and glue between us peeling
pulling back my skin from bone
so will you be home? im mailing you my pieces but signatures needed
and sure enough, i got it back- i drank it way too fast
like two puzzles, exactly the same but painted differently
cardboards not to last, the best things are made of glass
shattered by high frequency, shards cut losses
for now its just a rash, this too will pass
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
if you don't feel you don't sleep
it's too easy to think
and with that, reality, disregard dreams
kiss them on the cheek
before they head to the beach
painless, woundless, unencumberedly soft creaks
bed with sheets...
no,surgical table, writhing body, brain bleeds-
worn in, worn out, worn thin without doubt
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
to the other sewn
one sleeps alone
for fear of unknown
one alone roams
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC
here come muddy landslides
rushing down, demanding spectacles
be viewed through lens: wide
stricken by euphoria revealing
a mountainscape: your gum line
destroying homes built hillside
this is quality, the feeling worth the feel
this is beautiful even after enamel peels
this is what i want to take me, crushing quantities
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
deep within the black shirt
are chamelion hands making mocks
of string
when they should've been
digit deep in a bowling ball
or around the handle of a sauce pan
or on the arm of the couch...
sometimes they'd be cupped
amplifying yells around the mouth,
sourcing the tooth obsession along with a slew of other medical problems,
another bushel of ******** for the stew in the ***
maybe her foreign claws
could rub the knots out of your shoulders
but she is suspected of dropping the world,
and, as with many other things,
would garner your reluctance
to hold risk for,
your red hot fear of hatred
your red hot ******* hatred
those shoulders hold your house
your saxophone
those shoulders hold your experience
your lack thereof, your anxiety
your ******* hatred
your black shirt
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
im afraid to shave
im afraid to shower
im afraid to be clean
i guess im a coward
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
i'm sleepy of you
i'm exhausted of you
i'm sore of you
i'm drifting off of you
i'm nodding out of you
i have narcolepsy of you
me eyes are starting to hurt of you
i still have to bike home of you
i'm bored of you
i'm restless of you
i'm indifferent of you
i'm worn out of you
i'm over it of you
i've been up all day and night of you
i might head home soon of you
i'm not interested in you
...so fear mounts...
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
almost 21 and i don't have any fun
cause i don't have anyone
been this way since i was young
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
he's terrified of her voice
that whips his eardrums like kashmir switches
and tickles his diaphragm until he convulses
in nervous laughter inside his head
the way it inquires broadly,
like an opera written in tornado sirens and megaphones
and the brightness of lighthouses,
for conversation he thought
had drowned long ago and only
reemerges as bubbles on the lake's surface
a boiling body popping deafeningly
with anxiety, and plumping
bravery pasta, which smells seductive,
which he loves...
he's just not hungry right now.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC